Re: Fiery Angel
by Annie Nigma
Summary: A remastering of Axelion Night's original hit fiction. Fire is lethal, uncontrollable, and devastating. Yet, warm, gentile, and bright. One could say it even melts the coldest of hearts.


**G. W.: Oh, look, name change! Now, I know Axelion's original is favored on this site, the 39 reviews are something I can only **_**imagine**_** receiving for this. However, I do believe a rewrite could do the story some good. So, with permission from the original author, I present:**

**Re: Fiery Angel**

I wasn't much of a girly-girl when it happened. Now, you're probably wondering why I am telling you this seemingly random information, right? Well, just keep this image in mind during the story I am about to tell you.

A tall, thin girl maybe five foot ten weighing one-fifty, not a bad size and perfectly healthy, and looking down on your classmates is a major plus. As for a figure, she has a straight body and a small chest size. Some say you wouldn't notice them. Naturally black hair—there is some Native American in there—cut to her ears, pale skin for the Irish and French that somehow mixed in during the Revolution. Her eyes are green, though in some lights her friends say they look almost yellow. Now, dress this strange girl in a white button-up and black trousers and dress shoes, not by her own choice, but school's do love their uniforms.

Got her visualized? Good, have a cookie. This is how I looked the day my life took a turn for the worse, and that turn eventually became the best thing to ever happen to me.

#

"Axel, the Principal would like a word with you." The ancient teacher wheezed at me during our BYOB—Bring Your Own Book, not Booze—interrupting my pleasant dive into the suicide of Romeo. I close the worn hardcover book, placing it in my leather satchel before tossing it over my shoulder and walking from the room. I glance back at my friend Charity, who mouthed questions that I could not answer until my return, and that would not be for a long while.

Now, the old crone's English class was on the top floor of a three story high school with only one elevator that was on the opposite side I was, so I did the only sensible thing. I took my 18-year-old ass and slid down the banisher like an 8-year-old, chiding myself for almost hitting my lady-balls on the post at the bottom.

A brief walk and I was staring at the door of Principal Ralph Clancy, a man so old and decrepit, was all thought that it was his house key Ben Franklin discovered electricity with. The only skeleton key on his desk did not help this one bit. I opened the heavy door.

Mr. Clancy looks at me, tears welling up in his rust colored eyes, as for the police chief, not so much.

"It wasn't me, I swear on any holy deity you can imagine. What didn't I do?" The two men stare at each other, a silent dialogue of _No, _you_ tell her_ going on in their eyes. "Uh, guys, I have a test in Astronomy next bell so…"

"Ashton Night?" The chief asked in hopeful spirits, wishing for a no.

"Call me Axel, sir. I don't go by that anymore."

"Right…you…your father was…"

"A good man, I know. What's this about, sir?" _Shit, did Mom lose _another_ marble? Please don't let her be in prison, God._

"You mother…she didn't make it to the hospital. There was a break in, and the robbers took her like. DOA. I', sorry, Miss Night."

"No…_no_!" I shouted grabbing my hair. _Not her too, please God not her too. Dad, Alex, Mom, why? _I jammed my hand in my pocket, retrieved my Zippo and ignited it, running to Clancy and holding the flame dangerously close to his face. "You lying bastards, what did you do?"

"Ah…Ashton…"

"Why didn't you stop them? You could have saved her! You could have saved my father, my brother! You could…ah…" I fell to the hard floor, my hand gripping my chest too tightly. "Cold…so cold…" I was aware of my family's heart history, but…so young? My brain registered the heart attack just moments before the blackout.

Then, into the rabbit hole went Alice.

#

At first the speech was garbled, foreign, and then it cleared up, becoming English in a matter of seconds.

"Is he alive?"

"He breathes, so surely he is, Meg."

"Oh, Christine, he's so handsome."

"Shh, I think he is coming to."

"Oop."

My vision returning, my first sight was two vastly different girls looking down at me. One was full figured, no older than 16, her hair in golden coils down her head. Pink skin and eyes so blue only aquamarine could describe them. She was the epitome of innocence.

The other girl, embarrassed apparently by the contrast of her red cheeks and her paper white skin. Her features were bone-thin, her eyes an inky black to match her long, straight hair. She seemed to be 13 at the oldest.

"Hello, girls. Um…who are you?"

"We were going to ask you that, monsieur. Etiquette dictates, though, that questions be answered in order given, therefore, my name is Christine Daae. My companion is Megan Giry."

"Please, sir, call me Meg." Both girls curtsy as I stood, bowing as to be polite. "Who might you be?"

"My name is Axel Night."

"Peculiar…"

"Meg, Christine!" We all look in the direction of the shouting, a young woman stomped to up, her daggers on the two girls. "Quit harassing the gentleman and get back to work, _Faust _is only hours away."

"Oui, La Sorelli." They run from me and to the stage, located to my right, where the woman came from.

"Forgive them, sir, they are only girls. A new face is so very intriguing." She curtsies, a lock of brown hair escaping—by accident, I still can't tell—from her seemingly impregnable bun. "My name is Sorelli, I am Prima Ballerina. May I ask your name?"

"As I told Meg and Christine, my name is Axel. I…umm…" My bag strap broke at the moment I stuttered, giving me the time needed to think. "Dammit, not again!" We both dive down, collecting classic novels, old pens, a leather-bound journal, and sheet music. She smiles as she takes a piece.

"A musician, monsieur? Magnificent, we need a new pianist for tomorrow's production."

"I thought you said the opening was hours away?"

"Oui, oui. Almost 24, to be exact." _Clever girl_. "Come, I'll take you to Moncharmin and Richard for an audition. You are guaranteed, though, we are very desperate." _Ah, yes, so my nearly nineteen years of playing will actually come in handy. Thanks, Mom. _

As we walk, she prattled on about how Lorenzo quit, continued with something about a ghost, and other mindless chatter. After a while, we found ourselves beside two men, one tall the other shorter, reminding me of two actors whose names had left me. They both stared at me with nervous eyes.

"Hello, sirs." I began stepping forward, acting braver than I felt. "This lady tells me you two need a new pianist."

"Indeed we do, child. Our relative ghost harassed the poor man to no end. We feared no-one would dare try replace him."

"A ghost, you say? Nothing but posh, I'm sure."

"Yes, so we though too." The short one barks. _John Hurt and John Cleese, duh! _The tall one was nearly the spitting image of Nearly-Headless Nick, and the shorted one had the look of The Doctor before Nine from the special, which I saw in 3-D. "Then the poor man quit, and now the Chief of the Flies has been…well…"John Hurt-man looks over the stage at the dancing girls.

"You audition is now, child." John Cleese-man said taking me down to the instrument pit. "The dancers are taking a break, so you won't bother them."

"I wouldn't worry about the ballet rats, Richard."

"Moncharmin, please." Richard smiles. "Whenever you are ready, child."

"My name is Axel Night."

"Odd name…" Moncharmin whispered but made no further comment. With deep breaths, I prepare for the audition of a lifetime.

I play Mozart, Beethoven, and a few Danny Elfman tunes before resting my fingers, though the hiatus is short and I quickly resumed my playing, finishing with the melody to _Swan Lake_. Hoping my many years of forced practicing have finally assisted me in some way. I turn to Moncharmin, Richard, and Sorelli.

Awe, I suppose, was what formed on their faces. The men begin to praise me, they gave me many complements, most pure bullshit. Sorelli had told me how desperate they were, so all the lavishness was just to get me to agree to work for them. Which, against a small voice in my rather pained head, I did.

"Excellent, now there is only getting you comfortable in Lorenzo's old room. There is a bath, a bed, a dresser, a vanity with grooming products. Shall we fetch your belongings?" _Shit!_

"Well, good sir, there is a slight problem with that. I came here from America a few months ago, to try and forget the death of my family. On the way, the ship hit a horrible patch, a hurricane. A few of us washed up on the Spanish shore, we lost everything on board, I was lucky to have had had my satchel with me the whole time. I worked my way to France and, well, here I am now." Not a total lie, not the full truth, but still the best story I could come up with. The men nodded in understanding, but a look at Sorelli spoke more than she could. Tears fell from her doe eyes as she attached herself to me in a back-cracking hug. The men reacted like they had seen us have sex right in front of them.

"You poor thing. Tomorrow we shall go to town and purchase some clothing for you. Oh, can we, sirs?" I pushed away, her embrace only tightened. Unfortunately, the men took my struggle with a grain of salt.

"Sir, please restrain around the female staff from now on, we cannot afford more scandal in our opera house!" Richard shouts.

"Please, let me go, Sorelli." _Opera house? _She reluctantly stopped, huffing like a child when I stepped away from her. "Do not worry, sir, I will control myself better in due time." Why did they say I was the inappropriate one? She tackled me practically, and yet the "young man" was the deviant? Why do they call me monsieur, anyway?

"Indeed. Now, as for mademoiselle Sorelli, I believe you have a rehersal. Monsieur, oh, how rude of me! What is your name?"

"Axel Night."

"Monsieur Night, take your salary for tomorrow today, Moncharmin shall write it out, and purchase some garments." The shorter man pulled out a check scribbling with an old fashioned fountain pen.

"I believe _this_ should be enough for a new wardrobe, though some of it will be deducted from future pay, all right?"

Looking down at the numbers on the page, I said to him, "This should be plenty." Though, later on, I would make twice the average opera worker.

#

Ten white shirts, five black trousers, my dress shoes, and six vests each in a dark, rich color (blood red, wine violet, navy blue, silver, emerald green, and gold), and some silk pajamas now called the wardrobe in my new room home. There was still some francs left over, those I would use for food or make-up…if men wear make-up here, that is.

"May we enter?" A new voice called from beyond the door. A quick assessment of my clothes, still in my school uniform, and tell the new voice yes. Two men, apparently brothers, stepped in, wearing identical suits the taller in black and shorter blue. The black clad man had brown curly hair in a ponytail, a ribbon holding it back; he also had a thin moustache. The man in blue had straight, short brown hair with a moustache matching his brother's. There was something oddly…feminine about these men.

"Hello, sirs." I said awkwardly, as they just stood there, almost assessing the situation. The younger one steps forward, his face full of joy.

"Bonjour, monsieur Night, my name is Raoul De Changny, the Vicomte. This is my older brother, Comte Philippe. We are the patrons of the opera and would like to extend our warmest welcome to you." Philippe has not moved the contours of his face remained a stone of distain.

"Yes, _warm welcome_." He hissed marching to me, hand extended. I grasp it heartily, his grip was numbing. "As I know you gave to my Sorelli earlier."

"Excuse me, sir…I don't follow."

"Of course not. Come, Raoul, we have to get some rest for tomorrow. Moncharmin and Richard want us liking our best for the performance."

"Oui. See you tomorrow, best of luck, monsieur Night."

"Please, it's Axel."

"Very well. Adieu, Axel."

#

I sit for hours after they left playing the score over and over again on the small practice piano near the bed. I began near one in the afternoon and a quick look at the clock told me it was nearing midnight. The clock was near a floor length mirror, something I should have noticed earlier while I exploring the room and en suite. I felt eyes meeting mine in the mirror, someone was watching me, though I cast it off as a nervous chill.

"Go to sleep, Ashton, you need rest." I whispered aloud moving from the piano to the wardrobe, taking the pajamas. As silly as it felt at the time, I still went to the bathroom to change so I could be away from the invisible eyes in my mirror.

When I reentered, I was shocked to see a note on the bed, a red wax skull sealing it. It took a minute, but I finally opened it.

_Ashton "Axel" Night,_

_ Welcome to my opera house. For your own safety, I feel I should lay down some basic rules for you to adhere. One) I expect nothing but utmost perfection from you considering those fools hired you without my approval. Two) you may have heard that the Chief of the Flies, Joseph Bouquet, is dead by my hand…this is true. Take this as a warning not to go exploring too deeply within the opera._

_ I will watch you at the rehersal tomorrow, and if you are not what I expect, you too will be replaced. _

_ Your Obedient Servant,_

_ O. G._

_Oh, God…I know those initials… _I searched my memory for that signature, this déjà vous couldn't be for nothing. A distant memory clicks, and I didn't like it. When I was in Junior High, we did a musical for the first time. Charity dragged me to the audition, I fought her, and it didn't work. I sang, my undeveloped voice sounding masculine and my height earning me the role of _Phantom of the Opera_.

Raoul was played by Justin Stark, Christine by Bimbo Barbie. I remembered singing the words written on the page. I tried to block that memory, I hated being in the musical. Playing a man was the straw that broke the camel's back. I never auditioned for another production again.

Now it all came back, and as confused as I was before, it only increased when I realized that I was now a part of the Phantom's story. I lay in bed, extinguishing the candle. The eyes vanished with the light. I tried to sleep, it eluded me. All I could think was: _What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Axel?_

**G. W. : Please let me know what you think about this. Axelion was really nice to have let me make my version of her story, I just hope I lived up to your expectations. Please review.**


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